The Bourbon Street Ripper (Sins of the Father, Book 1) (29 page)

Rodger, who was in front of the toilet, stopped short of unzipping in front of his partner. His hands on his zipper, he looked over at Michael and said, “Oh yeah? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just take my piss and pass out for three more hours?”

“Because we were right,” said Michael as he folded his arms. “It’s a copycat killer.”

As Rodger stared blankly at Michael, the younger man added, “Another woman was found this morning in the French Quarter, eviscerated alive. Whoever it is, they have killed again, just like the Bourbon Street Ripper.”

Chapter 15   
The Magic in Your Mind

With a series of sharp ringing sounds, the egg timer in Sam’s kitchen went off, calling her attention away from doodling in her day planner. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted throughout the room as the blond woman, dressed in a loose white blouse and relaxed-fit blue jeans, hopped up and headed toward the skillet.

“Hmmm, was almost in there too long,” Sam mused, looking over the singed edges of the bacon.

She turned off the heat from underneath the skillet and, using a pair of tongs, removed the now quite crispy bacon, placing it on a plate simply covered with paper towels. The dozen strips still sizzled, smelling of cooked pork fat, a simply sumptuous smell. That done, she moved over to the eggs, cooking scrambled in an adjacent pan.

After seeing the texture was perfect, not too runny and not too solid, Sam stirred the eggs up some more and placed them on a plate next to the bacon. The aroma was intoxicating, and despite herself, she stole a bite of both.

As she munched the tidbits, Sam reflected on how different she felt on this sunny morning. Forty-eight hours ago, she was in a hellish place, memories of her grandfather assailing every waking moment. And now here she was, about to have a man over for breakfast for, honestly, the first time in her life.

It was not a situation Sam had expected to find herself in, not by a long shot. After the catharsis she’d had the night before, through the powerful memories brought about thanks to the sherry bottle and red plastic charm, Sam had vowed to finally come out of her shell.

Originally, she had just planned on dropping off her manuscript and then heading to a local park to read. However, when she learned that Richard Fastellos was in town, she decided to get him to autograph a copy of
Darkness Rising
, one of her favorite books by one of her favorite authors. After doing both tasks, Sam spent the rest of her afternoon reading that signed copy, enjoying the feeling of being a part of the world again.

Sam had never expected to find out from her lawyer that the very same Richie Fastellos wanted to meet with her. Kent hadn’t even given a reason, which was all right with Sam, as she just wanted to meet the man. Although she decided to go and have dinner with him, Sam wasn’t sure what to expect. She even drank a few glasses of wine before going to make sure she could concentrate on her dinner companion. And although she was nervous, the dinner went remarkably well; Richie was far more interesting than Sam ever could have expected.

Sam also wasn’t expecting him to be so handsome, and even though she had gone through most of her life without giving men much thought, she couldn’t get that smile of his out of her head. Her cheeks starting to pink, Sam came out of her thoughts and looked at the time. Seeing it was already eight o’clock, she realized Richie would be there any minute. She hurried to finish cooking breakfast.

She raced across the kitchen to prepare the toast. Six pieces of bread were torn from the womb of their bread box and crammed into the toaster oven. She busied herself with putting out a spread of preserves and butter. Then her nose caught the whiff of burning toast.

“Crap,” Sam exclaimed and hurriedly opened the toaster oven door. In her haste to rescue the last part of breakfast, she touched part of the hot metal grating, and she snatched back her hand and cursed.

She removed the slightly burnt but still edible toast, and placed it on the same plate as the preserves. She then quickly moved to the kitchen sink to run cold water over her burn.

The pain wasn’t excruciating, but already Sam could feel the throbbing associated with a minor burn from hot metal. She chided herself for being so clumsy.

Well, at least I didn’t touch a hot coil this time.

After a minute or so of running cold water over her finger, Sam took a look at the wound. A red mark was visible and the skin was already tightening—a first-degree burn. Sucking in her breath through her teeth, Sam looked at her hand with disgust, trying to remember the last time she had actually burned herself. As she concentrated, she felt the world around her grow dim.

Soon Sam was no longer in her kitchen but her grandfather’s, standing on a wooden stool. The sounds of sizzling bacon and the smells of sausage gravy assailed her senses. She was no longer an adult, but eight-year-old Samantha, in a little rosy day dress, her blond hair tied back neatly by a red ribbon. And all around her, the house staff, including the cook and housemaids, were screaming up a fuss, young Samantha having burnt her finger on the hot coil of an old toaster.

“Miss Samantha,” cried out Tania Patterson, a pretty black girl dressed in a traditional maid’s outfit. “Miss Samantha, are you okay?” In a blur, Tania was at Samantha’s side, grabbing at the young girl’s hand to look at the wound.

Samantha held out her finger, looking at the deep red mark with a mixture of fascination and horror. Tears were already forming in the girl’s eyes, but she hadn’t start crying—yet.

Miss Cooper, the cook, a heavyset white woman with a sizable hairy mole on her chin, bounded over and swatted Tania away from Samantha, saying, “Back off, girl! You don’t grab at Miss Samantha’s hand when she done burned herself. You go get some aloe right now, before I box your ears!”

The young servant girl nodded and slinked away, whimpering.

Nearby, stirring a pot full of grits, Violet Patterson shook her head. Her gray eyes, focused forward, looked expressionlessly over the stove as she cut a pat of butter off the stick and plopped it into the hot mixture.

“Tania’s so stupid,” Violet said as she reached to stir the sausage gravy. “It’s just a burnt finger.”

“Hush, you,” Miss Cooper snapped at Violet. She then tousled Samantha’s hair, as the young girl started to sob. “Now, it’ll be all right, Samantha. Tania’s gonna get you some aloe to put on that.”

Samantha, who by now was registering what had just happened to her, shook her head, trying hard not to grow hysterical. The pain was increasing with every second, and already she felt a hot throbbing in her finger. As the stinging started to overwhelm her, she suddenly felt a calm and gentle presence behind her, a strong but firm hand on her shoulder.

“Sam,” said Vincent. He was dressed for comfort in a dark red velvet robe with the initial
V
embroidered on it in gold. He smiled warmly down at the tear-streaked face of the girl in front of him before kneeling down and taking her hand from Miss Cooper.

“That’ll be all, Miss Cooper,” Vincent said in a sterner voice. Miss Cooper nodded and retreated to the stove, flipping over the bacon and cracking a few more eggs on the skillet. He then looked Samantha’s finger over as if appraising a gem of the finest quality.

After a few moments, Vincent looked into Samantha’s eyes. He reached up and, using the sleeve of his robe, wiped her tears away. As he did this, he asked, in a gentle tone, “How did this happen, Sam?”

By now, Samantha’s finger throbbed in pain, and the girl wanted to scream. But having her grandfather there filled Samantha with a sense of calm and safety. She mustered up the best smile she could and responded with, “I wanted to make you toast, but I burned my finger on the toaster.”

“Toast, you say?” Vincent asked, leaning up to see the plate of half-cooked toast lying on the counter where Samantha had dropped it after burning herself.

He smiled softly and said, “I’m sure this will be the best toast I’ve ever had.”

“Violet”—Vincent turned to the Patterson girl, who cocked an ear in his direction—“put some honey on that toast and make sure it’s served to me.”

“Of course, sir,” replied Violet, who returned to her work at the stove, eyes focused forward.

Vincent, turning back to Samantha, was about to say something when Tania hurried up and, holding out a bottle, announced that she had retrieved the aloe.

Samantha saw her grandfather’s brow furrow, and as he stood, he said, “She doesn’t need aloe. I have just the thing. Back to work, Tania.”

As Vincent led Samantha out of the kitchen, holding her uninjured hand, Tania looked to shrink half a foot and scuttled over to the stove to help her sister finish cooking. Samantha was sure that she heard Violet call her sister stupid again, and that made her giggle.

Everyone in the Castille household knew that Tania was all heart, but she had very little in the brains department, while Violet was almost robotic, but was very keen in intellect. Being six years older than Samantha, the Patterson sisters had worked for the Castille family since childhood, and they were as much a fixture in the household as any of the other servants.

As Vincent led her into his study, Samantha’s thoughts of Violet and Tania were replaced with the throbbing hot pain of her burn. She looked at the red mark and frowned, even as her grandfather led her to one end of the room, near a fireplace and large bookcase. Vincent led Samantha to his wingback chair in front of the empty fireplace, sat her down in it, and got up to search his bookcase.

“Here we go,” Vincent said as he came back with his doctor’s bag, kneeling again before Samantha. “I have just the thing for burns. Aloe will help the dryness, but it will do nothing for the pain.”

Rummaging through his bag, Vincent pulled out a small bottle with a bunch of medical writing on it. Samantha looked over the bottle curiously as her grandfather opened it up, took a cotton ball, dabbed some liquid on the cotton, and moved to swab it on Samantha’s burn.

When she pulled her hand back reflexively, Vincent paused and looked his granddaughter in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you, Sam. Trust me.”

That was enough for Samantha, who nodded her head and offered her wounded finger to her grandfather. A few dabs of the cotton, and the pain vanished. Samantha was amazed.

“That’s like magic, Grandpa,” Samantha said, awe in her voice.

Her exclamation made Vincent chuckle as he capped the bottle. “Magic? Perhaps. Maybe there is magic in things such as Lidocaine, or maybe the magic is in your mind.”

Samantha scrunched her nose at that comment. “Magic in my mind?”

Applying a bandage, Vincent nodded. “You’d be surprised what kind of powers are locked away within that mind of yours, Sam.”

As Vincent stood to put away his bag, Samantha looked over her now-bandaged finger. Her grandfather continued, “We humans do not utilize our complete mental potential. If we could unlock the full power of our minds, imagine what we could do.”

This concept seemed as alien to Samantha as some of the words her grandfather was using. Standing up, the young girl followed her grandfather, asking, “What do you mean, Grandpa? What can we do?”

Vincent offered his granddaughter a smile as he swept across the room to an oak desk while continuing his lecture. “All manner of things, Sam. You could remove the limitations of your body, transcend your conscious self into pure thought, or even… ”

Sitting down behind his desk, Vincent patted his knee. “… or even live forever.”

Samantha walked over to her grandfather, taking in what he said. Most of it didn’t make any sense; however, the last part got her attention. “Live forever? You mean never die?”

With a deep chuckle, Vincent pulled Samantha onto his knee. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Keep that old baron from digging your grave.” He tilted her face toward his. “What would you do, Sam, if you never had to live with the fear of death?”

Samantha thought really hard about it, sucking on her bottom lip as she furrowed her brow. Finally, the girl answered, “I’d become a doctor like you, Grandpa, and cure all the diseases of the world!”

Proud of herself, Samantha folded her arms and nodded her head emphatically. This made Vincent laugh out loud. It was a warm laugh; however, given his age, it had a growling element to it. To Samantha, it always sounded like how that cartoon dog she liked on television laughed.

“I see, you’d be a doctor like your gramps, eh,” Vincent said as he nuzzled the girl’s hair affectionately. “Not wanting to follow in your daddy’s footsteps?”

Again, Samantha scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Daddy’s job keeps him up all hours. Besides, Missus Patterson says it’s real dangerous, and he could get hurt someday.”

“Missus Patterson is right, I’m afraid,” said Vincent, a rueful tone to his voice. “Your daddy takes a great risk doing what he believes is right. But… ” His voice trailed off, and for a moment he looked genuinely sad. “… we all have to do what we believe is right, Samantha, regardless of the cost.”

Unable to understand what could make her grandfather so sad, Samantha just hugged him. To her delight, he hugged her back, and for a long moment the two just held each other. Samantha loved the way her grandfather smelled: he had a scent of fine tobacco and clean velvet. She liked those smells.

Soon, Vincent detached himself from Samantha and took her injured hand into his, looking over the bandage, softly asking the girl if it still hurt.

Shaking her head, Samantha said, “No, not at all. Thanks, Grandpa. I don’t like it when it hurts.”

To Samantha’s surprise, Vincent chuckled. “Nobody likes pain, Sam. But that doesn’t mean pain isn’t important.”

This elicited a confused look from the girl, who tilted her head to the side and asked, “Pain important? No way, Grandpa!”